


Poisonous Soul

by Super_not_naturall



Series: Poisonous Soul [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cannon Divergence, Explicit Language, F/M, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_not_naturall/pseuds/Super_not_naturall
Summary: You never considered yourself to be special or important: you lived an average, boring life. That is until you are taken by something not . . . natural. Suddenly, you are thrown into a world of unknowns with the Winchesters as your only guides. Will you ever find your way back to that normal life, or will you lose yourself among the supernatural?





	1. Black Eyes

_Jesus, it’s fucking cold._

I slam the car door shut behind me and bury my hands deep into my jacket pocket before looking around the empty parking lot. Like usual, it’s just me and the generic, used cars that every college student seems to drive.

Jumping on my toes a bit, I make my way down the hill and past the sports fields toward the shortcut that’ll take me to my dorm.

If I didn’t know Messiah was the safest college on the planet, I most definitely would never take this way after dark.

It’s not a very popular path to take, so it’s never lit up unless there’s a soccer game going on, and even then, it’s only the lights from the stadium that illuminate it. It always takes my eyes a couple minutes to actually adjust because it’s so dark, especially on nights like tonight when the clouds are hiding the moon.

Sometimes when I near the creek, I’ll hear two or three people chatting quietly on the benches by the water, but usually I’m only one out this late at night; coming home from the last shift at a local retail store.

Theoretically, someone could definitely murder me on my way back to the dorm; in fact, it’s crossed my head hundreds of times throughout the past couple years, but I have yet to have any incidences besides almost stepping on a couple star-gazing.

I pull my jacket closer to my body, wondering if I should have just called campus safety to give me a ride instead of walking. It’s unusually cold for October in southern Pennsylvania, reminding me of the weather back home in upstate New York.

I’m just passing the empty baseball field when something starts to feel wrong.

As a social work major, I’ve been taught not to ignore that tight feeling in my chest. We’ve all been told horror stories about social workers who ignored their intuition and ended up getting hurt. But I’ve walked this path, literally, hundreds of times before without any incidence; I know the trail like the back of my hands. If something were going to happen to me, it would have happened already. . . wouldn’t it?

I stop and listen, hearing nothing but the cold breeze rustling the leaves in the trees around me. There’s no footsteps, no growling−no sounds to signify that I’m in danger at all.

“You’re being stupid, Y/N.” I mumble to myself, beginning to walk again. I ignore the way my heart feels lodged in my throat, “There is nothing dangerous on this campus.”

_Just keep walking; one foot in front of the other_. _Soon, you’ll be back in your single, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, watching Netflix._

My thoughts don’t do much to calm me though; if anything, I feel even more on edge than when I first started.

Footsteps.

I swear to God, I just heard footsteps.

I quickly turn around, but there’s no one there; just the shadows from the surrounding trees.

_Okay, now is probably the time to run._

I whip back around, determined to sprint the rest of the way, but there’s someone standing in front of me.

She looks familiar, but Messiah is small enough that almost everyone looks familiar. Blue eyes look at me with curiosity: her hair falling out of a bun and framing her face in light tendrils.

It wouldn’t be too odd seeing another student out here if it weren’t for the fact that she’s wearing pajama shorts and is barefoot.

_Maybe she’s sleepwalking?_

“Um, hi.” I look for any sign that the weather is affecting her, but she’s not even shivering. “Are you cold?” I begin to unzip my jacket, “You can wear−”

The girl barks out a harsh laugh, silencing me. I freeze with my hand still holding the zipper, scared for reasons unknown to me.

“Really?” The girl scoffs, tilting her head to the side, “You’re the one who is going to draw the Winchesters out?”

“Wha−”

“You’re so small.” She sneers, taking a step towards me, “And far too naïve.”

“I don’t . . .” I find myself walking backwards, trying to keep some distance between us, “I don’t understand.”

Her lips curl in a smile, but instead of comforting me, it sends a chill up my spine.

“You, wouldn’t; would you?” She blinks with purpose; her eyes open, but instead of blue irises staring back at me, I’m confronted with all black.

It takes me a second to understand what I’m seeing, another to try and make sense of it, and then finally, I run.

I don’t look where I’m going, just push myself away from her.

Pain shoots from my skull as a handful of my hair is caught in the girl’s grip, jerking my body to a stop.

“Not so fast, sweetheart.” She whispers into my ear.

She kicks the back of my legs, sending me crashing to my knees.

I open my mouth to scream, but don’t get the chance to.

The girl slams my head into the cement walkway.

Intense pain blossoms behind my eyes, there’s a ringing in my ears, and everything sounds muffled.

I try to say something, anything to make her stop, but can’t seem to form the words.

She’s saying something, but I can’t make it out; it sounds garbled.

The ground disappears from beneath me and suddenly I’m floating.

Exhaustion sweeps over my body, promising a reprieve from the pain pounding in my head . . . maybe this is how I die . . .


	2. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up alone and scared, Y/N tried to figure out what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Usual SPN violence, death of a minor character, There are some slight suicidal thoughts; it's more implied than explicit, but it's still there. There's also some language, but there will probably be language for every part, just so y'all know.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound of water slowly splashing on the ground wakes me from a dreamless sleep.

I open my eyes, but there’s not much to take in. Moonlight filters in through a small window somewhere, showing nothing but damp, gray cement. The ground is cold and wet where I’m lying; I think there might be a leak in the ceiling.

I try repositioning myself but am met with intense pain emanating from my skull and a small tug on my arm.

“Wha−?” I look down to see an IV attached to the inside of my elbow, the tube running into a bag of clear fluids.

I move my left arm to try and take it out, but find that I’m handcuffed to a pipe of some sort.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A female voice rings out, “That’s what’s keeping you from becoming dehydrated right now.”

I look up to see the blonde from earlier, this time in a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. She’s sitting on a cheap-looking, card-table with both legs crossed underneath her.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” She smiles brightly, “Don’t worry, you won’t have any brain damage from your _fall_.” Her lips lift up in a smirk, “Just a small concussion.”

“Where am I?” I manage to ask, but it sounds hoarse like I’ve never used my voice before.

“Doesn’t matter.” She chirps, jumping to the ground, “But, now that you’re awake, you can have some grub.”

She reaches behind her and grabs a plate with just some bread piled on top, “It’s nothing fancy;” She continues, walking closer to me, “just enough to keep you alive.”

The plate clatters in front of me, causing another jolt of pain through my head.

“Oops.” She laughs before turning back around.

I eye the bread warily; it doesn’t look like anything has been done to it, but I’m also not in the mood to be poisoned.

My stomach grumbles seeing the food set in front of me, but I resist the urge to shove it all in my mouth.

I can handle being hungry. I’ve done it before …

“Suit yourself.” The girl leans against the table she was just sitting on, “I was ordered to keep you alive. That doesn’t mean you need to eat.”

_Ordered? Who would want me?_

I begin to remember bits and pieces from the other night; something about Winchesters and, oh my god, her eyes …

“How did you do that thing?” I ask, studying her face, “When your eyes turned black?”

Her lips curl into a spine-chilling smile, “You mean this?” She blinks again and the entirety of her eyes turn into a pitch black.

Even though I knew it was coming, I still find myself retracting away from her.

Her head falls back as a cackle escapes her lips, sounding almost inhuman …

She rolls her head around to face me, “I’m a demon, sweetheart.”

It’s not that I don’t believe in demons, because I do. I mean, as a Christian I believe in a lot of spiritual stuff like heaven and hell. But actually seeing it firsthand is something else.

I must have passed out, because I find myself waking up yet again in the same position as before; only this time, I’m alone.

I desperately look around for some way to escape, but with the cuffs tight enough to break skin, there’s no way I’ll be getting away from this pole. Then there’s the whole matter with my head, and I also have no fucking clue where I am.

So instead, I focus on my body, trying to figure out if there are any other injuries besides the obvious concussion.

I run my fingers over my skin, poking and prodding, only to find some major bruises and maybe a sprained ankle. The worst is the pain that seems to be coming from just under my skin; it’s the same pain I get midway through the day when I forget to take my medication, only 10x worse. I’m going through withdrawal which means it’s been more than a day, possibly two.

_Has anyone even noticed I’m gone? Is anyone looking for me?_

The reality of the situation hits me harder than my head on the cement. It’s fall break and anyone who would notice is at home.

I instantly regret staying on campus to fit some extra hours into my schedule; I was saving for a trip to England and now I’m probably going to be dead by the end of the week.

It’s not like I fear death, I just would never have imagined that this is how I would go: starving, laying on cold cement, with a needle jabbed in my arm. In fact, I always thought I would die by my own hand.

There was a time when I didn’t think I would be alive to go to my junior prom, let alone graduate high school, but here I am in my last year of undergrad and chained to the fucking floor.

A metal clang of a door slamming sounds from somewhere inside the building, causing an echo to bounce around the room.

I wince at the pounding in my head the sound caused, but still try to look around the corner. With my wrist cuffed to a pipe, though, there’s only so much movement I can pull off.

“No, please.” The voice is muffled, but I can tell it belongs to a male.

My heart begins to beat unusually fast and the hair on my arm stands on end; a shiver makes its way down my spine, having nothing to do with the cold air around me.

“Shut the hell up.” The demon’s voice is cool and without any conscience.

There’s a scuffle, as if the man is trying to get away, but it doesn’t last long.

Screams shred through the air but are cut short, followed by a gargling noise.

_No, oh my God …_

I squeeze my eyes shut and curl up into a ball, covering my ears with my hands.

_No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening._

My tears are warm as they lead a trail down my cheek and to the ground.

The man, who I can only assume has been murdered, choking on his own blood, is silent.

The only noise left is the dripping of the pipes and the sound of footsteps coming closer.

“ _Tire quiero patem me a di_.” Her voice rings out clearly, speaking, what sounds like, Latin.

I try to even my breathing and keep my eyes shut as I had when I was a child to trick my parents into thinking I was asleep. Maybe the demon would be too busy doing some sacrificial ritual to notice.

“My father.” Her voice breaths out a sigh of relief, “Yes; yes, I have the girl.”

_Who is she talking to?_

“Are you sure we have the right one? It’s been three days and no sign of the Winchesters.”

There’s a long pause; the only sound coming from the leaking pipes.

I begin to wonder if maybe I’ve been caught when she continues, “No, I would never doubt you−it’s just−”

Another long pause ensues followed by a deep sigh, “Yes, father. Talk soon.”

She’s beginning to walk towards me again, the sound of her footsteps bouncing off of the cement walls and echoing throughout the empty warehouse.

“You haven’t eaten.” She says to me, obviously aware that I’m not asleep.

I open my eyes to see her standing in front of me, arms crossed and looking agitated.

“Kill me.” I tell her, feeling a pressure build behind my eyes. “Please … just kill me.”

Her head tilts to the side as she studies me; her cold, calculating eyes never once leaving my face.

“You’re serious.” Her brows shoot up and her mouth tilts up in an amused smirk, “You know, most people would ask me to let them go, but you … you want me to kill you?” She guffaws, her body shaking with laughter.

“Do it.” I tell her, bristling at the way her laughter sounds in the situation, “I’m sure you’ve done it before.”

“There’s no question about that, sweetheart.” She sneers, “I’ve killed thousands, but I must say, never anyone so willing.”

She crouches down to be eye-level and leans toward me; I do my best to stay frozen−to not show any fear.

“People have asked, begged me really, to end their misery,” She strokes my cheek with fingers of ice and I will myself to stay still; “None of them meant it though; not like you do… What I would give to get into that pretty little head of yours.” She moves her fingers from my cheek to my hair, matted with blood and dirt.

“Are you going to do it?” I grit through my teeth, wanting this moment to end.

She flashes me a toothy smile, “I would, darling, but the boss says I can’t.”

She’s up within nanoseconds, walking back to her favorite table.

“Maybe once the Winchesters show, I can do that favor for you … I want to see Sam Winchester’s face when I kill his−”

_CRASH_

A sudden pain begins building in my head, far worse than before, making it impossible to concentrate on what’s going on around me.

I try to focus on where the sound came from, but the dim lighting has become blinding. My eyes squeeze shut, fighting against the pain ricocheting in my skull.

Voices. Male voices.

I can’t understand what they’re saying; it all runs together.

Pressure pushes from the inside of my skull accompanied by a loud shrieking that only I seem able to hear.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

I can’t handle any more of it.

Please, God, just make the pain stop.


	3. The Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N meets the two brothers responsible for saving her, but can she trust them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some language and angst, but nothing too major.

Light dances behind my eyelids, the sun already high enough in the sky to sneak through the cracks of my blinds. I let out a soft groan before pulling my blanket over my head and turning towards the wall.

A sudden throbbing in my skull makes its way through my sleepy haze and brings memories of a damp, hard ground and chilly air.

I sit up suddenly, throwing my blankets off of me. I go to stand up, but the world around me spins−my head full of cotton balls.

“Woah, hey.” A gruff voice sounds from my desk, “Take it easy, sweetheart.”

I turn toward the voice slowly, partly from fear and partly to keep the room in one solid place.

Sitting in the hard, metal chair is a tall guy, probably around six feet, with bright green eyes and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. This alone wouldn’t seem too intimidating if it weren’t for his posture: he sits with his back straight, almost militaristically, and his arms crossed over his chest. He has on a beat up, brown leather jacket and jeans that have seen some better days, his boots are caked with mud and his wrists are adorned with leather bracelets.

If this were a normal day, I might ask how he got in my room, or the building for that matter, but instead, I just throw my arm towards my bookshelf and say, “I need my medicine.”

His brows raise, seeming slightly confused, “Medicine?”

“I’m going through withdrawal.” I snap, “White bottle with the green top.”

He slowly stands up, still seeming a bit unsure with my sudden request. He finds the bottle easily, proceeds to read the label, then takes one brightly colored pill out for me.

He grabs a new-looking water bottle off of my desk, possibly preparing for the moment I would wake up, then hands me both the water and my pill.

I slip the pill into my mouth instantly and take a large swig, hoping the side effects will disappear sooner rather than later.

The minute the water hits my tongue, I’m hit with an overbearing thirstiness. I down the entire bottle within seconds.

“Are you hungry?” The man asks, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

At the mention of food, my stomach growls in the most obnoxious way, giving him my answer.

“I found some peanut butter and jelly in your cupboards.” He gestures toward my spare closet that I use for a pantry, “You want a sandwich?”

I eye him curiously for a moment, unsure of what to make of the rough-looking guy trying to take care of me.

“I can go out for a supply run if you’d like something else−”

“No, a sandwich sounds perfect.” I interrupt him, “Actually, three would be perfect.”

His lips lift in a smile, seeming to relax just the slightest bit.

He begins gathering everything he needs out of the closet, seeming far too focused on such a mundane task.

“Who are you?”

He pauses momentarily, causing a silence that seems to stretch on forever.

“My name is Dean.” He finally says, continuing with the task at hand. “My brother and I saved you.”

“I figured as much,” I admit, watching him spread the peanut butter onto a piece of bread.

He swallows hard then glances up at me, “What do you remember? About last night, I mean.”

“Not much, to be completely honest.” I sigh, trying to run my fingers through my hair and failing as I hit snarls and matted patches. “She said something about having to keep me alive as a trap for the Winchesters or something?”

Dean stiffens, but recovers quickly, making me wonder if I imagined it.

“She . . . she wasn’t human.” I admit quietly, “I know it sounds crazy, but she said she was a demon.”

“It’s not crazy.” Dean walks toward me and hands me a plate with two sandwiches piled on top and another water bottle. “There’s a lot out there that people can’t explain.”

“Like ghosts?” I say around a mouthful of bread, not caring in the slightest what he might think of me.

Dean pulls the chair away from my desk and turns it to face me; he sits down and rests his elbows on his knees.

“Among other things.” He sounds distracted.

“Is there something wrong?” I take a small sip of the water he gave me, studying his posture and emotions, but he’s unreadable.

“You’re sure you don’t remember anything else?” He asks, “Why you would draw the Winchesters out? Why you were wanted? Anything?”

“You don’t believe me?” I ask, dumbfounded. “If anything, I should be the one wary of you.”

“Why’s that?” He scoffs, “I saved you.”

“I don’t know who you are, what you do, or how you tie into all of this? For all I know, you could be the bad guy in this situation.” I set my plate to the side, suddenly losing my appetite, “How did you even get into the building, let alone my room? How did no one notice you carrying me back? It might be break, but there are still a couple people on campus.”

“Listen, all you need to know is that you can trust me.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, because that’s something all normal people do: trust random strangers who they’ve known for less than an hour.”

A snort of laughter comes from my doorway where another man stands, filling up the frame.

“She has a point.” The stranger says to Dean with a smirk.

If I thought Dean was tall, this man is a giant. He wears a plaid flannel over light-wash jeans and a pair of brown work-boots. His brown hair falls just past the top of his ears in light waves while his hazel eyes regard me with curiosity.

“I’m Sam.” He walks over to me and holds out his hand.

I eye him warily before taking it and giving it a small shake.

“Y/N.” I reply, feeling a wave of calm washing over me with his touch.

Sam’s lips pull up into a smile that’s both reassuring and warm, but I’m struck by his kaleidoscopic eyes and how beautiful they are.

I’m broke out of my reverie as Dean clears his throat, throwing a glare towards Sam.

I feel my cheeks burn red as I finally pull my hand away and look down at my lap.

The name Sam bounces around my head, tugging at the memories inside my pain-addled brain. It takes me a minute before I can finally place where I heard it.

“Are you Sam Winchester?” I ask, remembering the way the demon had said his name the night before.

Sam looks taken aback for a moment before nodding his head, “How did you know?”

“The demon said your name last night.” I shake my head, trying to remember what exactly she had said about him. “She said she wanted to kill me in front of you . . .”

I look away, afraid that he might see the shame written on my face and know what I had asked her to do last night.

“Hey,” Sam crouches in front of me and engulfs my hands within his own, “it’s alright. You’re safe now.”

I force a smile and swallow hard. “Thank you,” I say as if my safety is what I’m worried about, and not the pain buried deep inside of me.

 ______________________________________________________________

_“We’re hunters.”_

Sam’s voice bounces around in my head as I strip out of my clothes in the bathroom, too distracted by the events that have taken place to pay any attention to the bruises covering my entire body.

Hunting is nothing new to me. I come from the boonies of upstate New York where the majority of my graduating class wore camo and skipped school during the months of October and November. I personally never got into the redneck festivities, but I know enough to understand that that’s not what Sam had meant when he said hunter.

 _“We hunt the things that hide under your bed.”_ Dean had explained, seeing my confusion.

So now I’m questioning everything I’ve been taught−everything I brushed off as a trick of the light or as setting floors. What was it really?

I walk into the shower and turn the dial on hot, my usual preference for my mornings when I wake up cold and barely awake. This time, though, the water hurts.

There’s a large cut accompanied by a massive amount of swelling on my forehead by my hairline, too tender to even brush lightly. There are scrapes down my legs and arms, and my hands have a surprising amount of cuts that I hadn’t noticed until now.

Wincing, I continue to keep my head under the stream of water, watching as it takes on a muddy, red hue running down my body and into the drain.

Shampooing is even more difficult; I cannot count the amount of times that I’ve accidentally run my fingers over the wound with too much pressure, bringing tears to my eyes.

Conditioning is a greater task in that it’s _so fucking difficult_. I’ve gone through half the bottle just letting it soak in the tangles and matted hair before running my fingers through and trying to detangle the mess on top of my head. This, of course, is a process that I have to repeat three more times before it has returned to a semi-normal state, leaving my scalp numb from the amount of tugging and pulling it took.

I wrap my towel close around my body as I step out of the shower and into the chilly air; the steam no longer able to keep me warm.

As I gather up my things and begin walking out of the bathroom, I notice my reflection from the corner of my eye, making me stop in my tracks.

Y/E/C eyes stare back at me from the mirror: the only thing that looks the same. Black and blue bruises paint my skin in various places, some looking darker than others. The area by my hairline has tripled its normal size with scarlet fluid slowly oozing out.

As I reach up to wipe away the small amount of blood, I notice dark rings surrounding my wrist, slightly swollen from where the cuffs have bitten into my skin.

“Y/N?”

I jump at the sound of my name, breaking me out of my reverie.

I turn to the source of the sound to see Laurel, one of the girls who lives on my floor.

“Are you okay?” Her round eyes widen with shock, “What happened?”

She walks closer and reaches out her hand, as if to touch one of the many dark spots staining my skin, before thinking better of it and letting her arm fall back to her side.

“Car accident.” The lie slips past my lips effortlessly, scaring me more than the demon ever could.

Who have I become that I’m able to look this girl in the eyes and tell her anything but the truth with such ease? Maybe it’s the fact that she wouldn’t believe me anyways.

“What are you doing back?” I force a smile, successfully changing the subject.

Her thin lips pull into a frown, looking like she wants to say more about my physical state, but she doesn’t pry. “I wanted to get here a day early.” She explains, “I like beating the crowds.”

_A day early? That means it’s been four days? I was missing for four days?_

“Y/N?” Laurel looks concerned, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders, “It’s just a small concussion.”

She nods her head slowly, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. _I don’t even believe me._

“I’m gonna go get dressed.” I gesture towards the exit behind her, “I’ll see you later?”

_Hopefully not._

“Definitely!”

She looks like she wants to say more, but I slip past her and out into the hallway before she can raise any more questions.

Sighing heavily, I make my way back to my small room before suddenly remembering that there are two large guys waiting for me.

_Why didn’t I bring clothes?_

I groan inwardly and open the door slowly, only to find the room empty.

There’s a sticky note with sloppy handwriting claiming that they went on a “supply run” attached to my desk, explaining the absence of the brothers.

I close the door and lock it, taking advantage of the time I have alone to get dressed in peace.

I dress slowly, testing out each limb to see if the pain is from being tied up for four days without food and water, or if there might be something more serious going on.

Overall, I don’t find much wrong except for the throbbing inside my skull and the tender part of my forehead.

I’m brushing through my hair when I hear a light knock at the door followed by Sam’s voice, “Y/N? It’s me: Sam.”

I open the door and let him in, noticing the lack of his older brother.

“Where’s Dean?” I look out into the hall, but it’s empty.

“Supply run.” He explains, “Didn’t he leave a note?”

I turn back around, closing the door behind me, and take a seat on my bed.

“Yeah, I just thought you were with him.”

“Oh, uh, no. I was making these.” He holds up some official looking papers.

I get up and walk towards the desk he is sitting at to get a better look.

“Doctor Samuel L. Bryant?” I raise my brows at him, “Is that even a real doctor?”

“Just say you were in an accident at home.” He rolls his eyes, handing me the fake doctor’s note excusing me from work _until further notice_. “No one is going to check every doctor’s office in your area.”

He has a point.

I shrug and take the note from him, scanning over the words, “How long is this going to take, Sam? I have to make money some way.”

I look over the papers at him, but he’s strategically looking at anywhere but me.

“Sam?”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I’m not sure.” The corner of his lips falls slightly, “We don’t really know what it going on or why a demon would want you.”

“You don’t know?” I scoff, “Isn’t this your guys’ jobs or something?”

I bite my lip and look at one of the posters of my wall, not wanting him to see how irritated I am.

I shouldn’t even really be upset with him; I didn’t know this shit existed until a couple days ago when I was knocked out by a girl who was possessed.

_Wait, the girl._

“What happened to her?” I turn around suddenly, interrupting whatever he was going to say.

“Her?” His brows knit together in confusion.

“The girl who was possessed.” I explain further, “The one who kidnapped me.”

“She’s, um . . .”

“Is she dead?” I pry, guilt gnawing at the back of my mind.

If this girl is dead, it’s because of me. . .

“The girl isn’t dead.” Dean’s voice comes from behind me, followed by the door closing behind him.

I turn to see his green eyes glaring at his brother, silently communicating something that I definitely wanted to know about.  

“What is it?” I demand, but the boys just continue to have a silent conversation with their eyes, “Tell me!”

Dean glances over at me, his eyes softening slightly, “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, sweetheart.”

He drops a plastic bag, filled with what looks like junk, on the top of my dresser; avoiding eye contact like his brother had done just a few moments ago.

“What do you mean _nothing to concern myself with_?” Anger bubbles underneath the surface, threatening to send me into a fit of rage. All of the stress, anxiety, and shit I’ve been through the past couple days is finally coming to a pique.

“If something is wrong with this girl, then it is _my_ fault.” My hand flies to my chest, “I am a part of this more so than both of you, so tell me.”

Dean’s eyes dart behind me toward Sam again.

“She has a right to know.” Sam voices from behind me, earning another glare from his brother.

I glance behind me and give Sam a thankful smile before turning back to Dean.

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like he wants nothing more than to get out of this tiny dorm room, and away from me.

“Knowing isn’t going to help you in any way, Y/N.” Dean’s eyes finally find me, “In fact, it will probably tear you apart.”

I give a slight nod, fighting the tears that are burning behind my eyes, “Tell me.”

______________________________________________________________

“You tortured her?” I choke out the question as if they hadn’t just explained to me that that was exactly what they had done.

“She gave us permission, Y/N.” Sam’s hand had somehow found its way on top of mine within the past couple minutes, providing a somewhat comforting presence.

“We had nothing on the demon.” Dean explained, his candy apple eyes are soft and don’t look capable of the torture he has admitted to. “We had to get information from it; what it wanted with you, who it worked for−”

“And did it answer any of your questions?” My voice sounds a lot stronger than I feel, “Did you get any answers?”

The silence between the brothers gives me my answer.

I rip my hand away from Sam’s and walk to the other side of the room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic being in the same room as the two of them.

“So what you’re telling me, is that you tortured this innocent girl for nothing?” My voice is on the edge of being hysterical. “This girl had already been through hell, and you guys decided to make it even harder on her.”

I shake my head and open the door, needing nothing more than to get out.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls out as I walk into the hallway.

“Away from you!”

I hear Dean yell something at me about how it’s not safe, but I’m already out the door.


	4. Midnight Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Y/N have a late-night talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part deals more with the mental health aspect I have mentioned before. It's nothing too graphic, but it does delve into some of Y/N's inner thoughts/depression and may be triggering to some. Read with caution.

I can’t remember a time that I particularly cared for myself. I don’t mean in the _never showers, never cleans, and wears nasty clothes_ kind of way. I mean that if it were between me and a complete stranger, I would still take a bullet before the other person was hurt.

Some would call that courage, or maybe even heroics, but trust me when I say that it’s pure selfishness.

I’ve always had a yearning for death; I would choose to die for me−not for the other person.

A cold breeze gently blows my hair across my face, obstructing the view I have of the wide creek below me. The moon’s reflection dances with the rushing water to the sound of crickets and leaves rustling around me.

I’ve often found myself wondering what it would feel like to jump. To climb over the railing and let myself fall.

I don’t think it would do much damage; it’s only about twenty feet off the ground, but the thought still remains in the back of my mind whenever I walk across the bridge to my car.

The ground beneath my feet sways, indicating that someone else is walking towards me.

I don’t need to look to know it’s Sam; the steps are heavy, but far too hesitant to be his brother’s.

“What is her name?” I ask, still looking out across the water.

“Ruth Walters.” He seems unsure of how I’ll react. I don’t blame him.

I give a small nod, acknowledging that I’ve heard him.

I don’t cry anymore, I cried out all of my emotions a while ago. Now I’m just left feeling numb.

“Y/N . . .” There’s something off about his voice.

I turn my head to face him, noticing the concern in the way that his brows scrunch together and his eyes won’t leave me.

“If I ask you something,” He continues cautiously walking towards me, his hazel eyes taking in every inch of me, “will you answer honestly?”

“I can try.”

He nods his head before settling beside me, his arm barely touching my own.

“Dean and I were raised in this life.” He tells me, finally tearing his eyes away from me to look out at the creek, “We’ve helped a lot of people, we’ve also lost a lot of people . . .”

He takes a deep breath before turning back to me, “In all of that time, I have never heard any of them beg to die. Sure, they’ve asked the monsters to end their misery, but they didn’t actually want to die . . . not like . . .” He holds his breath slightly, his eyes staring deeply into my own, “not like you.”

I feel too vulnerable, suddenly, with his concern directed at me along with those gorgeous eyes of his. I don’t want to tell him the truth. In fact, all I want to do, is run and hide−to get away from the feelings bubbling up from inside me.

“That wasn’t a question.” I avoid answering, fully aware of what he’s asking.

_Do you want to kill yourself?_

It’s a question that I’ve been asked hundreds of times before; it’s the reason I’m on antipsychotics and have to go to therapy once a week. But contrary to popular belief, it isn’t that black and white. There are some shades of gray in which people don’t understand. Shades of gray where my love for my family and hope for the future make any thought of killing myself seem unrealistic and out of the question. Shades of gray where I’m more afraid of myself than any demon or monster out there. Shades of gray in which the depression might take over and become too much one day . . .

His hand finds mine again, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my fingers intertwine with his and give it a reassuring squeeze.

I’m waiting for him to say something, anything really, but he doesn’t.

We just stand there silently, letting the insects sing us a midnight lullaby.

And somehow, I feel at peace.

 


	5. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and the boys begin getting frustrated with their research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more mental health/angst. I’m sorry! I promise the next part will not talk about anything mental health related! Although, if that kind of stuff bothers you, I’d advise just not reading this series because having a depressed main character kinda makes it hard to avoid, ya know?

There was a time when I was younger that I thought I wasn’t human. I was so sure that I had to have some type of super power because I felt different from everyone else around me. In my seven-year-old mind, I knew I was special.

I decided to test my theory out one summer night, just as the stars had started to appear slowly, one by one.

_To watch me fly_ , I had told myself−So confident that I was about to join them up there in the night sky.

I jumped out my second story window, putting all of my trust in these imaginary super powers. They were going to save me. I just knew it.

Gravity had other ideas, though, and I fell straight to the ground.

After two broken bones in my leg and a fractured wrist, I realized that I had made a mistake.

Trusting the Winchesters feels a lot like that moment before I took the leap: scared and yet confident all the same.

Watching Dean scroll through his laptop at my desk and Sam flip through the pages of an ancient book beside me, I’m starting to wonder when I’m going to feel my bones break again: when I realize that I have made a horrible mistake trusting these two.

“And you’re sure you don’t have any type of ability?” Deans asks me for the hundredth time, “No visions? Controlling people with your mind?”

I shake my head firmly, “I already told you, Dean, I’m one-hundred percent ordinary.”

Dean runs his hands over his face, groaning out of frustration.

“Well, I’m not finding anything.” He says, “Sammy?”

Sam glances up from the book in his lap to give his brother a shake of his head, “Maybe instead of trying to figure out what we don’t know,” He says, closing the large text with a thud, “we focus on the facts.”

I sit up straighter and grab a notebook from the top of my dresser, hoping that I might be able to actually help them this time.

“We know that Y/N does not have any sort of ability like the other people in my visions.” He glances over at me, probably still waiting for me to freak out about his visions, as he calls them, but after everything that’s been going on in my life, I’m not about to judge.

“We know that I was kidnapped by a demon.” I supply, jotting down what we know.

“A demon who probably works for yellow eyes.” Dean adds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. A part of me hopes he loses balance and falls to the ground to provide some type of laughter in my life.

“And they don’t want you dead.”              

“Not at the moment, at least.” I respond to Sam with a smirk, but he doesn’t find my sarcasm very funny.

He frowns and shakes his head, “I’m not going to let you die, period, Y/N.”

His large hand rests on my knee, making me feel things I should definitely not be feeling towards the man I barely know.

I clear my throat and look down at my messy handwriting, trying to tear my thoughts away from how warm Sam’s palm is on my skin.

“So, in all, we know that some yellow-eyed demon hired another demon to kidnap, but not kill, me, who is not special in the slightest, and this all has a connection to Sam somehow.” I look up at the two brothers who look just as frustrated as I feel. “How does this help?”

“Well, we know that we’re missing the connection.” Sam says, “Maybe you and I could try to find the connection between us and Dean can look for any signs of demon activity in the area. I assume there was a reason that the demon wanted to draw Dean and I out; maybe we can catch it before it happens.”

“Can we at least do this over food?” I ask, resting my hand on my stomach. “I am in need of some sustenance.”

Dean smiles before looking over at his brother and throwing him his keys, “You can take Baby if you promise not to scratch her.”

Sam rolls his eyes, expertly catching the keys with one hand as if it’s an automatic response by now.

I slip on my flip-flops and throw a sweatshirt on all while walking towards the door, driven by the thought of French fries and a milkshake.

“And bring me some pie!” Dean yells at us, causing his brother to shake his head with laughter.

“I know,” Sam calls back before shutting the door and hurrying through the hall with me, not wanting to run into anyone from my floor.

Everyone will be moving back into their rooms in a couple of hours and I’ll eventually have to come up with some lie explaining who the Winchesters are and why they are here, but I want to put that off until the last possible minute if I can.

I wrap my arms around myself as Sam opens the door to the building, leading me outside where the wind bites at my cheeks.

“Baby?” I ask Sam now that Dean is out of earshot.

“The Impala.” Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness there as well that tells me he doesn’t find his brother’s quirks as annoying as he makes them out to be.

We continue weaving through the buildings on campus and to the closest parking lot closest to my dorm.

“You know you guys won’t be able to be seen once everyone arrives, right?” I mention, glancing up at the giant man walking beside me.

Sam nods his head, sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, “We’re good at blending in, Y/N.”

“Okay, but this is a Christian college. No boys in the room past visiting hours …”

“I did the research; I know what the rules are.” Sam’s lips pull up into an amused smirk, “We’ll be fine.”

I want to push the subject further, but keep my mouth shut. Maybe they do know what they’re doing; who am I to question the monster hunters.

I rely on Sam to take me to the car because I have absolutely no knowledge on vehicles.

The Impala ends up being one of those classics that old men tend to fix up and drive out to car shows. It’s a large, black, boat of a car with disgustingly shiny rims. Dean must take a magnifying glass to the paint every day just to make sure he hasn’t missed a speck of dirt.

I slide into the passenger side, noticing that the both of them have somehow managed to get their hands on a faculty parking permit.

“So how are you doing, Y/N?” Sam starts the car up.

I pick at the skin around my fingernails and stare out the window, avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man beside me, “What do you mean?”

I jump at the weight of his hand on top of my own, putting an end to my fidgeting.

I look up and into hypnotic, hazel eyes that make me want to pour my heart out to him; to explain all the pain and self-loathing I’ve been harboring inside for years. It makes no sense; I barely know the guy, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable around somebody as I am with him.

“You know what I mean.” His voice pulls me out of my head and back into the present.

I offer Sam a small smile and a shrug, deciding to be as honest with him as I’m willing, “As good as I can be after be kidnapped by a demon, I guess.”

He purses his lips, obviously not pleased with my vague answer, “Y/N …”

“What?” I interrupt him, “What do you want me to say, Sam?” I pull my hands away from his. The car suddenly seems too small for the both of us. “That I’m fine? That everything is fan-freaking-tastic?”

“That’s not what−”

“Because that’s never going to happen!” Tears burn behind my eyes. I look up toward the ceiling to fight off the inevitable break down. “I’m never going to be as good as everyone wants me to be.” I clench my trembling fingers into a fist, hating how claustrophobic and trapped I feel, “I’ll never be happy enough or safe enough or−” I swallow thickly, unable to continue with my train of thought.

I close my eyes as tightly as I can and try to focus on the biting sensation of my nails digging into my palm: anything to keep me from crying.

“But I’m alive and I’m here.” I finally say, taking a deep breath and looking over at Sam, “Isn’t that good enough?”

My throat constricts and tears have broken to the surface, I try to breathe normally, but sobs wrack my body and make it impossible.

Large arms encase me, pulling me closer into a comforting embrace smelling of old spice and musk.

Fingers trail through my hair while I bury my face deeper into the crevice of Sam’s neck.

“Of course that’s enough, Y/N.” He whispers, “That will always be enough.”


	6. Dine and Dash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to find a connection, Y/N and Sam have a conversation over lunch but run into some trouble along the way.

The drive to the Diner is filled with comfortable silence as Sam focuses on the street signs. Classic rock floats through the car’s speakers at a low volume and every once in a while, Sam will speak up to get further directions.

“Is this it?” His voice pulls my eyes away from the passing trees to the small diner sitting on the corner of the street.

“Yeah, this is it.”

Brother’s Diner is quiet today, there are only two other cars in the parking lot and none of them from this century. Dean’s Impala fits in nicely.

The bell rings above my head as I open the door, signaling mine and Sam’s entrance to the waitress.

A woman diverts her attention from an elderly couple and gives us a wide smile, “You can sit wherever you’d like, sweetheart.”

Her gaze lingers on Sam longer than I’d like, and I begin to wonder if the sweetheart was for him or me.

Grabbing Sam’s elbow, I lead him to a small booth on the other side of the dining room where we would have a little bit of privacy.

“Is it always this empty?”

I shrug my shoulders and slide into the booth, ignoring how the lumpy cushion beneath me does nothing to make my seat more comfortable.

“I don’t come very often.” I reply, picking a menu up off the table, “I’m usually too busy with school and work.”

I scan through the lunch options, but the only thing that sounds good to me right now is a plate of French fries.

“Hi, my name is Kathy, and I’ll be serving you today.” The waitress’ chipper voice announces from beside me. “What can I start you off with today?”

I look up to find that her eyes are focused on Sam who is still looking through the laminated menu in front of him.

“Sam?” I prompt, giving his leg a slight nudge from underneath the table.

He glances up and gives the waitress the most adorable smile I have ever seen, “Uh, sorry. I’ll just have a water for right now.”

I wish I could roll me eyes at the way Kathy is swooning, but seeing Sam all flustered is cute as all hell and I’m practically melting into the cracked, pleather seat across from him.

“What about you, Y/N?” Sam asks, obviously trying to take the attention away from him.

“Oh, I’ll have a Mountain Dew.” I smile at Kathy, but I don’t get as nice of a look as Sam did.

She sashays away from our table, obviously putting more sway in her hips than I would think is comfortable.

“So tell me about yourself.”

“What?” I turn my attention back to the beautiful man in front of me.

Sam is smirking, seemingly amused with the way I can’t focus on anything for more than two seconds.

“Tell me your story. I figure the best way to figure out if we have some type of connection is to see if any part of our lives matches up.”

“That makes sense,” I nod, trying not to laugh at how this feels like an awkward first date. “Well, my life is really boring. I grew up in a small town in upstate New York where the cows outnumber the people. Went to the same high school with all the same people, graduated and haven’t spoken to them since.” I pick at the nail polish on my thumb while trying to think of something more to say, “Uhh, my parents are still together, living their happily ever after as a maintenance supervisor and a social worker.”

“Social worker?” Sam saves me from trying to think of something else to add to my uneventful life, “Is that why you’re getting your social work degree?”

“Partly.” I shrug, “I mean, I guess it was probably a huge factor on how I was raised and how I turned out, but even if my mom was a plumber, I think I’d still feel this huge need to help others.”

Sam’s lips curl up into a bright smile, “I understand that. A lot of what Dean and I do is to help people.”

I open my mouth to respond, but am interrupted by the clanging of glasses as Kathy sets down our drinks, followed by a not-so-subtle glare in my direction.

“So what can I get for you, Sammy?” Kathy twirls her black locks around her finger and pouts her lips slightly.

Sam clears his throat, looking as awkward as I’m feeling right now. “It’s Sam,” He informs her with a tight smile, “and I’ll just get a salad.”

“What type of dressing?” She leans in forward, making sure to give Sam every opportunity to stare at her chest.

If there wasn’t a small pit in my stomach filled with jealousy, I might be laughing at the ridiculousness of our situation.

“Doesn’t matter,” He says, clearly looking uncomfortable.

“I’d like the chicken tenders and French fries with honey mustard sauce,” I say, trying to distract her from Sam for a couple seconds. “And make sure there are a lot of fries; I love fries.”

Her blue eyes assess me for a second before muttering, “Obviously.”

I feel my jaw physically drop as she walks away from our table.

“Well, she’s not getting a tip,” Sam speaks up, his eyes shining a tiny bit brighter than normal.

There’s a silent beat between us before we both crack up laughing.

“Does this happen to you often?” I ask, looking towards the waitress who is now leaning against the counter giving me the stink eye.

“What? Rude waitresses?” Sam takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs, “Doesn’t it happen to everybody?”

“That’s not what I meant, _Sammy,_ ” I smirk, but he just rolls his eyes in response.

“It happens sometimes, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable again. I can’t help but find that sheepish grin of his so damn attractive, making me wonder if I’m just as bad as the waitress.

I decide to save Sam the embarrassment and steer the conversation away from the waitress ogling him from afar.

“So what about you? What’s your story, Sam Winchester?” I stir the ice in my drink; a habit I formed when I was younger and haven’t been able to shake. Whenever someone sets a cup down in front of me, my hands instantly go to the straw for something to play with; it’s probably a bit unsanitary if I’m being honest with myself.

“I was born in Kansas, but I don’t remember much of it. Our mom was killed when I was a baby and Dad became obsessed with finding the thing that killed her, so Dean and I grew up hunting.” Sam had mentioned before that he had been raised as a hunter, but he never went into detail; not like this.

“It was too dangerous to settle down somewhere, so we practically lived in cheap motels and the Impala.” Sam lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

I hesitantly reach out and place my hand over his; when he doesn’t pull away, I let my fingers intertwine with his.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say with a grimace, trying to imagine what it would be like not having a stable place to live. I’ve lived in the same house for 21 years, my parents always providing me with a safe place to stay and food to eat; I couldn’t even begin to understand what Sam went through as a child.

He gives me a sad smile and shrugs, “It wasn’t all bad; I had Dean. He basically raised me, actually.”

 _But he shouldn’t have had to,_ I want to say, but I just nod and take a sip of my soda.

I don’t know Sam well enough to start pointing fingers at his father, especially when I don’t know the whole story.

I look towards the jealous waitress in search of our food but find that she isn’t anywhere in sight. A lanky redhead stands in her place, blowing a pink bubble and keeping her eyes trained on our table.

I want to believe that maybe this new waitress has taken over Kathy’s tables and is scoping out her customers, but her stare is too intense and I’ve learned not to ignore the feeling in my gut.

“Sam,” I turn to the hunter and smile as if nothing is wrong, “that waitress is freaking me out.”

He doesn’t even glance in her direction, just nods.

“I noticed her too,” He informs me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, “I think it’s time to leave.”

He leaves the money on the table and begins scooting out of the booth, but before he can stand to his full height, the red-head is there.

“Leaving so soon, sugar?” She has a thick, southern drawl and is smiling just a bit too much to be normal.

“My friend is sick.” He points at me, not too far off from the truth.

My chest is tight and my stomach is twisted in knots; I may actually end up vomiting on the tile floor.

_She wouldn’t attack us in front of other people, would she?_

Her cherry red lips curl into a smile that does more to set me on edge than comfort me.

I look back over to Sam whose jaw is set tight in defiance, his body rigid and yet ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.

Her eyes dart between Sam and me, seemingly weighing her options in her mind: let us go or attack.

Her decision is made as the black in her pupils bleed out, spreading to make even the whites of her eyes a deep shade of black.

She reaches her hand out as if to touch me, but Sam is on her, already anticipating her actions.

The patrons of the diner turn their heads in time to see the red-headed demon rake her nails across Sam’s face, breaking open the skin and drawing blood.

Sam’s lips lift slightly as he lets out a snarl, drawing a blade out of his pocket and lunging toward her.

Her high-pitched laugh fills the diner as she flicks her hand, sending Sam flying into a booth across the way.

The wooden tabletop snaps in half from the force of his body landing, producing a loud crack.

Sounds begin surrounding me: silverware clattering, screams, chairs hitting the floor, the bell ding-ding-dinging as innocents flee the scene, and yet I’m frozen in place.

“Did you really think you could beat me, Winchester?” The demon asks in an amused tone, “You? A human?” She barks out another laugh; I flinch at the sound.

Sam grunts, trying to fight whatever invisible force is pinning him to the ground. “What is this about?” He asks her, “Why are you here?”

“Oh, me?” She points to herself, strutting closer to him with a smile, “I’m just here for observation. Technically, Azazel said I shouldn’t come, but I’ve always been a rebel.”

Something flashes in the corner of my eye, dragging my attention away from the disaster unfolding before me and to a small, metal flask on the floor. The silver glints in the light, showcasing an engraved cross on the front of it.

_Did that fall out of Sam’s pocket?_

I bite my lip, looking back over to where the demon has Sam still under her control.

_Will she notice me if I move?_

I watch as she crushes the air in her fist, but Sam let’s out a guttural scream, sending all hesitation out the window.

Either she doesn’t notice me or doesn’t see me as a big enough threat to waste her time on, because I’ve got the flask in my hand and am unscrewing the cap.

I look inside, but it just looks like water to me.

_Oh, well._

Maybe the water will cause enough distraction that Sam can do something. . .

_Fuck it, there’s nothing left to lose._

I face the demon, who has her back to me, and splash the water on her.

Smoke fills the air as she lets out a shrill scream and turns in my direction. I suddenly wonder if I may have made the wrong decision.

_What the hell is in that water?_

“YOU BITCH!” She snarls, but I just whip more water at her, hoping the first time wasn’t a fluke.

More smoke and screaming, this time I hear Sam reciting something in Latin from behind her.

She looks like a wild animal with her teeth bared and eyes wide; whatever Sam is doing must be working because she shudders and falls to her knees.

“WAIT!” She yells, turning her head to Sam, “I have information-”

Sam’s hazel eyes lift to meet mine, questioning whether he should continue or not.

_Don’t look at me, what do I know about this shit?_

“What information?” His eyes drift back to the demon, stopping whatever Latin voodoo magic he was performing on her.

“I know what she is,” She gasps, looking towards me. “I know what she is to you.”

My heart stops.

This is it. This is proof.

This wasn’t a mistake. They don’t have the wrong girl.

I can’t hide anymore.

“What do you mean?” I speak up, earning a warning glance from Sam.

I ignore the bitch-face he is directing towards me and step forward, “What do I have to do with any of this?”

Her lips turn up in a cool smile, “What _don’t_ you have to do with this?” She asks me, “You’re the most important pawn in this game . . .”

Sirens echo from outside, getting louder by the second.

Sam and I look at each other with matching panicked expressions; I cannot get arrested.

I’m about to say something along the lines of _Hey, let’s get out of here before we get our asses thrown in jail for assault_ when the demon’s head tilts back at a sickening angle.

She opens her mouth wider than I would think is humanly possible, and I watch as thick, black smoke forces itself from her body and toward the ceiling.

A soft thud pulls my attention to the waitress who has slumped forward, after expelling the last of the smoke, and has landed on her stomach.

“Sam?” I look up at him with wide eyes, worried that we might have just witnessed this woman’s murder.

Without saying a word, he crouches down and puts his fingers to her throat. His bangs obstruct my view of his face, but his body seems to relax just the tiniest bit before looking up at me and saying, “She’s still alive.”

Within seconds, he’s standing and his long legs are crossing the distance between us.

“We need to go. Now.” His hand takes mine and he leads me out of the diner and to the Impala, but I practically have to run to catch up with his stride.

It’s only after we have sped out of the parking lot and made it a safe distance away from the diner that I feel safe enough to speak up.

“Sam?” I ask him quietly, wary of the way his jaw is locked tight; barely resembling the soft and kind man who had sat in my room and held my hand earlier.

I reach out and softly touch his shoulder. He looks over at me in surprise, but I think I may be even more shocked than he is at my act. I have no clue what’s possessed me to do that, but for some reason, it just feels . . . right.

His features soften and he gives me a small smile, “Yeah, Y/N?”

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure what I could say right now that could fully explain everything I’m feeling.

I’m exhausted, scared, relieved, confused, and somewhere inside of me, there’s excitement as well.

I don’t tell him this, though. Instead, I just say the first thing that pops into my head.

“We never got those French fries.”


	7. If You Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to convince Y/N to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This mentions panic attacks and anxiety, so if that's a trigger for you, I would not read this part.

"Oh, you're back early. So I called Bobby-" Dean barely has the words out before Sam is interrupting him. 

"We need to go. Now."

"What happened?" He asks, yet still stands and begins helping Sam pack up their things from around my small dorm room.

"A demon." Sam is moving, pulling all of the lore books strewn across the room in a brown duffle bag. "Possessed a waitress and attacked us."

Dean gives a curt nod, but doesn’t give any other sign of acknowledgment.

I'm still standing there with a cup of fries that Sam had gotten me on the way home when Dean throws one of my bags at me. 

"Pack only the essentials. We can buy you anything else that you need."

I stare at him with my mouth opening and closing with no words coming out, probably resembling an idiotic fish. 

"Pack?" I finally manage to form a single word: a question. 

"Yes, pack." Dean rolls his eyes as if I'm stupid, "We have to get you to safety."

I watch as the boys continue grabbing things and shoving them into their bags, every sign of them ever being in the room quickly disappearing. 

"Y/N!" Dean quickly growls out; fries fall from my cup as I jump at the sound of his voice, "Stop standing there and start gathering your shit."

Sam sends Dean a withering look before turning back to me, "Y/N, I know you're probably in shock right now after everything that has happened, but I need you to listen to us. We need to get you somewhere safe."

His earnest eyes all but plead me to start moving, but I stand firm. 

"No." I tell them, setting the cup down on my desk and bending down to pick up the fries that had fallen to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Dean looks taken aback, "did you just say no?"

I nod my head, trying to seem braver than I actually am. I stand at a whopping 5’2 and if they decided wanted to kidnap me  _ for my safety _ , then there's not much I could do.

I stand up and toss the stray fries into the trash, ignoring the furious look Dean has in his eyes. 

“I'm not leaving.” I tell them, standing straight and crossing my arms defiantly. 

“I don't think you understand-” Sam begins trying to convince me, but even he won't be able to sway my decision. 

“No.” I shake my head, “I have worked way too hard to get my degree to let a demon ruin my chances of graduation. Not to mention, I have friends here and people who care about me. What are they going to think if I just disappear?”

Dean scoffs, “A degree isn't going to help you if you're dead, sweetheart.”

“I don't care,” I narrow my eyes at the older brother, “what you have to do, but I am staying here. I have placement this week and class on Friday; you can stay here or I can go to a hotel nearby, but I am not leaving the area.”

“You are going to get yourself killed!” Dean raises his voice for the first time, his green eyes blazing with anger. 

“So what? I never asked for your help!” I yell back at him, jabbing my pointer finger in his direction. “Why are you even still here? Why do you even care?”

“Because this doesn't just revolve around you! It involves Sammy too.” He's seething at this point; I can practically feel the anger rolling off of him. 

At the sound of his name, Sam jerks to attention, stepping between Dean and I in an attempt to diffuse the situation. 

“It’s not ideal, Y/N, I know, but Dean is right.” Sam tells me softly, the corner of his lips falling as if he hates what he's saying, “The only way we can guarantee your safety is if we get in the car and go. They know your schedule by now, you'll die if you stay.”

I bite down on my lower lip and shake my head, “Don't you get it by now, Sam?” I ask him, “I don't care.”

He flinches as if I've just slapped him across the face, but before he can respond, there's a knock on my door. 

Dean is instantly reaching for the gun in his pocket, making me roll my eyes. 

“I don't think a demon is polite enough to knock.” I stage-whisper, but he just points at the door, signaling me to open it slowly. 

I ignore him and yank my door open just enough for the person on the other side to see me.

Familiar blue eyes greet me with a quirked brow, and lips pulled down just enough to let me know that she’s slightly annoyed yet worried at the same time.

“Emmy.” I breathe out with a smile, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around my best friend.

After having so many unknown variables in my life, her brown hair and thin frame are more comforting than I could ever believe is possible.

Her eyes widen, reminding me of my haggard appearance; “I’ve been trying to call you for the past couple days, but you didn’t answer. I just saw Laurel and she said you looked like shit. Well she didn’t say shit, but a nicer equivalent, so I thought I would come check on you.” She begins explaining, “That’s when I heard the yelling. Who are you fighting with?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” I lean against the door frame, ignoring the feeling of the boys’ eyes on my back.

“Maybe why you haven’t answered your phone?” She places a hand on her hip, “I was worried something might have happened to you, which doesn’t look too far from the truth.” She reaches her hand out and lightly touches the bruise on my forehead; I wince from the pain causing her frown to deepen. “Does that hurt?”

“Obviously it hurts.” I snap at her, but instantly regret it. “Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed and still on edge from the car accident. My phone was destroyed in the crash, so that’s why I haven’t been able to answer your calls.”

The lie tastes bitter coming out of my mouth, and I can tell she doesn’t fully believe me. It’s one thing to lie to Laurel, a random girl on the floor. It’s a whole nother thing to lie to the person who seems to know me better than myself at times.

“And you couldn’t message me on facebook or find some other way to contact me? I was only two hours away, I could have come to the hospital with you. Did your parents come?” 

I shake my head, “It wasn’t that bad, Em; it looks a lot worse than it actually is.”

Her eyes narrow and she slowly nods her head, “So what was the yelling?”

“The T.V.” 

I think I hear a snort from somewhere behind me, but I don’t risk looking back to see who it was.

“You were arguing with the T.V?” She raises a brow, “Righhht.” 

“It wasn’t really the T.V.” I try to save my lie, but I just dig myself in a deeper hole, “It was skype, just connected . . .to the T.V . . .”

At this point, I don’t even think a toddler would believe my story.

She points at her face, “See this?” She asks, “This is a face that does not believe a single word you are telling me.”

Before I can register what she’s doing, she barges past me and into the room where the two brothers are standing side-by-side. Luckily, without a gun.

Em’s eyes go straight to the eldest Winchester, “I’m EmmaLee,” She holds out her hand with a flirtatious smile, “Y/N’s best friend. And you are?”

Dean opens his mouth but I jump in before he can answer, “Family friends who are leaving soon.” 

Em tears her eyes away from Dean just long enough to glare at me, “Why the rush?”

“We have to work.” Sam lies easily, reminding me that he does this for a living.

“You work together?” 

I give Dean a look that I hope comes across as  _ Hurry up and get the hell out of here so I can deal with this, _ but he just flashes Em a smile that I’m sure gets him any woman he wants, “It’s a family business.”

It’s obvious the two of them have forgotten Sam and I are even in the room and I have to resist the urge to let out a loud groan,  _ No EmmaLee, you cannot date the monster hunter! _

I give Sam a pointed look and mouth “ _ Do something!” _

His eyes widen at my demand,  _ “Like What?” _ He mouths back to me.

_ “Anything.” _

“I know you’re talking about me, Y/N.” Emmy says abruptly; stopping the silent conversation between Sam and I, “Don’t worry; I’m leaving.” 

She heads to the door with an amused shake of her head before calling behind her, “Dinner’s at 6; bring your two stowaways!” 

I try not to roll my eyes when she winks at Dean.

“I’m not promising anything.” I yell back to her, but her laughter tells me she doesn’t believe me.

I close the door and turn back to the boys; one of whom is still wearing a flirtatious smirk.

“She’s cute.” Dean says, looking toward the door as if he could still see her.

“Not happening, Winchester.” I glare, running my fingers through my hair.

I begin pacing my room, my thoughts racing now that Emmy has left us alone again.

I knew this was real, the pain is a constant reminder of that, but seeing my best friend talking to the two men who are somehow a key part of this has sort of solidified that fact for me. 

Suddenly everything seems to be too much; what happens when the demon comes after my friends and family? Would the demon do that? Is it after me? Is it after the Winchesters? Oh, God; there’s so much we don’t know.

“Y/N . . .” Sam’s voice is soft, “you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” I yell a little too loudly. I glance toward the door with a wince before turning back to Sam’s reassuring gaze, “How can I calm down? My best friend now knows about you, doesn’t that make her a liability? What if someone tortures her for information because they think she knows something?” 

My breathing is becoming erratic and I’m gesturing wildly; pain begins building in my chest causing me to double over.

“Y/N, you have to breathe.” Dean is next to me; his voice the calmest I’ve ever heard.

“No, really?” I manage to spit out in between shallow breaths, but instantly feel bad. It’s not his fault I’m having a panic attack; it’s mine.

“Is it . . . is it okay if I touch you?” Sam hesitantly asks, but I can only manage a nod as an answer.

His hand finds its way to my back, rubbing soothing circles, and his breath is hot on my ear as he whispers, “Can you breathe with me? Breathe in . . . breathe out . . .”

He continues this until I’m breathing at a normal pace, then he just wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest.

I latch onto his bicep as if he’s the anchor keeping me grounded; if I let go, I might be sucked back into the anxiety clouded all around me.

“You’re okay, Y/N; I’ve got you.” The mixture of Sam’s words and touches have this calming effect on me that I’ve never experienced before, stopping the panic attack more quickly than any medication or coping skill ever could.

I look up into his hazel eyes and give him a small smile to let him know I’m alright before whispering, “Thank you.” 

Before he can answer, Dean is speaking, “Are you alright, there, kid?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his use of  _ kid _ , “Yeah, I’m just . . . worried.”

“Worried?” His eyebrows shoot up, “That looked like a lot more than worried to me.”

Sam’s fingers massage my shoulder, reminding me that I’m still sitting in his lap while having a conversation with his brother.

I feel my cheeks flush as I slide off of him, mumbling an apology before returning my gaze back to Dean, “I can’t leave, Dean.”

He opens up his mouth, but I hold up my hand to stop him, “Before you start fighting with me; just . . . let me explain, please.”

His eyes roam over my face, seemingly assessing the situation in front of him, before finally letting out an exasperated sigh and nodding his head.

“If I leave, what’s to say that they won’t use EmmaLee, my family, or anyone I love for that matter, to lure me out? I was a stranger to you two, and they used me to bring you out of hiding and into a trap.” Sam’s hand leaves my shoulder only to intertwine his fingers through mine seconds later, “It’s safer for everyone else if I stay-if I let myself be seen as vulnerable and easily accessed . . .”

“This is your life, we are talking about here, Y/N.” Dean’s voice is hard, but his eyes are soft, “This isn’t some game. You could die if you stay.”

I stare at him with a frown and shake my head, “But they could die if I leave.” 

I look away from him and toward my door, as if EmmaLee is still standing there with her hair haphazardly thrown in a bun and blue eyes shining with a joke that only the two of us understand. 

How could I put her, one of the most important people in my life, in danger to save my own skin? How could I let my family walk into a trap, ignoring the fact that they could very well die? How could I knowingly cause pain to someone I love in order to escape my own torture?

The answer is easy: I can’t.

“There is no choice, Dean.” I turn back to him with a final shake of my head, “I’m staying.”


	8. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N tries to ignore the feelings she's starting to have for the youngest Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: there is some (brief) low self esteem/self-hating thoughts so if that's triggering for you, feel free to skip this chapter!

I dream of black eyes and blood soaked cement.

Instead of a stranger, though, the demon has EmmaLee by her hair and is holding a knife to her throat.

“Where are the Winchesters, Y/N?” She asks, pressing the blade into Emmy’s skin, “Better hurry; I’m not very patient.”

I try to scream, but it’s as if there’s something lodged in my throat and I can’t make a sound.

“You sure you don’t want to give me an answer?” Her lips curl into a smile, as she breaks skin; scarlet liquid drips down Emmy’s throat, leading a trail down her neck to her collar bone.

I fight the chains and try to beg the demon to stop; to take me instead, but I’m too weak and still no sound comes out.

The demon shrugs with a smirk, “Okay, have it your way then.”

With a quick flick of her wrist, the blade slices through EmmaLee’s throat. Blood pours from the wound and onto the concrete floor, her blue eyes staring lifelessly back at me.

“NO!”

I jerk awake, sweat dripping down my back and causing my shirt to stick to me like a second skin.

I instinctively look at the clock beside me to see that it’s around 6:00 in the morning; too early to be awake yet too late to fall back asleep.

I glance over at the cot across the room and find Dean’s tall frame sprawled in a position that does not look comfortable in the slightest.

I debate waking him up and telling him he can take my bed, but decide to just let him sleep. After everything I’ve put the guy and his brother through, he deserves some rest.

I write a quick note telling him I’m in the shower and not to worry if I’m gone when he wakes up.

I let my mind wander as the water runs over my skin; the heat making it turn a shade of pink.

I think of Sam, in his flannels that fit him in all the right places and his kind eyes that seem to see into the deepest parts of my soul.

I think of the sadness that crossed his features in the diner when talking about his life growing up, and I wonder why he’s here: why he hasn’t left a life filled with monsters?

For a brief moment, I think that maybe that’s how we’re connected: maybe it’s the sadness that we hide underneath the kindness, or maybe we both feel trapped in the life that we live. I dismiss the thought quickly, though; if that were the case, Sam would be connected to the majority of the human population.

The sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the sound of flip-flops slapping against the tiled floor, pulls me from my thoughts. 

I quickly finish my shower and head back to my room to find Dean missing from his make-shift bed.

I pick up the sticky-note I left for Dean to see that he has left a message of his own underneath mine,

Went to get grub, call if you’re in danger. -D

You’d think for someone so hell-bent on making sure I’m safe, he would have at least waited for me to get back before going and getting food.

Rolling my eyes, I crumple up the note and toss it in the trash.

Now that the mystery of the missing Dean has been solved, I decide to take advantage of my rare alone time by actually getting around in my room instead of in the bathroom, where everything seems to be coated in a layer of moisture.

I don’t quite feel like getting out of my fluffy robe yet, so I work on my hair first; quickly blow drying it and then adding a slight curl to my straight locks to make them wave. I then get started on covering up the large bruise on my forehead with some cover-up; I don’t get rid of the color completely, but am able to tone it down quite a bit.

The rest of my make-up is easy; just some eyeliner and mascara with a little blush. Not quite satisfied with my face yet, I add some red lipstick to match the dress I’ll be wearing for the day, and hopefully draw some attention away from my forehead.

I pull on my dress, but before I can zip it up, I catch my reflection in my full length mirror. I take a step closer and tilt my head, trying to figure out why it still doesn’t look right.

I run my hands down the length of the dress and try to convince myself that I look fine, more than fine, maybe even beautiful. But it doesn’t work.

I still look too curvy, and my skin is too pale, and even though I just did my hair, it still lays a little flat.

Frowning, I reach out and touch the glass, wishing, not for the first time, that I could change the person staring back at me.

The door behind me suddenly opens, making me jump.

I turn around to see Sam rush in and quickly close the door, probably trying to avoid being seen by the RA across the hall.

It takes him a moment to notice that I’m standing there, but when he does, his eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly. His gaze falls to my back which is uncovered from my unzipped dress; his cheeks flush and he turns around stammering out an apology.

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t know you were, um, getting dressed.” His words run together, making me laugh.

“It’s fine, Sam.” I tell him, “In fact, do you want to help me out?”

He turns back around with raised brows, but he’s still not making eyes contact, “Help you out?”

“Zip me up?” I walk closer to him and turn around, giving him access to the zipper.

“Oh, yeah,” His fingers brush against the skin of my neck as he moves my hair out of the way, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

He raises the zipper slowly with one hand while the other rests on my lower back, keeping the fabric in place. The minute he’s finished, the weight of his hand disappears from my back, leaving it feeling abandoned and cold.

I turn around, not realizing just how close he is, and let out a small gasp.

He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes, but he’s made it a bit easier by ducking his head down slightly.

“Thanks.” I breathe out.

I try not to focus how he’s close enough that I can feel the warmth from his skin. I also don’t focus on the green in his irises or the gold surrounding his pupils to make it look as if the sun itself is shining in his eyes. And I definitely don’t focus on the way that we’re sharing the same air and how his hand has made its way back to my hip, and his lips are getting closer to mine.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean’s voice causes the both of us to jump apart and turn to the door where he is entering with a fast food bag, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I-Oh, Sammy, you’re here! I got you one of those egg things you like.”

“An omelet?” Sam asks with a smirk, and just like that the spell is broken.

I walk to my closet and pull out a blazer and heels, trying to distract myself from my feelings for the youngest Winchester.

“Yeah, that thing.” Dean answers with a dismissive wave.

He looks over to where I’m pulling on the heels and lets out a low whistle, “Damn, Y/N, you look like a hot secretary.”

I roll my eyes at him with a small laugh, “Thanks, Dean. Just what every girl wants to hear,” I joke.

“It was a compliment.” He informs me, “Anyway, I got you some hash browns; you can eat them on the way if you promise not to get grease all over baby.”

I stand up and shrug the blazer on, giving Dean an are you serious look, “I’m not a child; I know how to eat without making a mess.”

“Dean’s an adult and he hasn’t learned how to eat without making a mess.” Sam interjects with a teasing grin thrown Dean’s way.

Dean just rolls his eyes and hands Sam the paper bag, “Let’s head out before there’s a lot of foot traffic in the hall.”

“Yes, sir.” I salute him with a smirk.

Dean tries to look annoyed with me, but the corners of his lips lift slightly and betray him.

“Come on, smart ass.” He shakes his head and walks out the door.

I follow him, forcing myself to look down at the phone in my hand and not into the hazel eyes trained on me.

If I focus hard enough, I can still feel the weight of Sam’s hand on my waist, and I can almost imagine what could have happened if Dean hadn’t walked in.


	9. Antonio's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds himself falling for Y/N

**Sam’s POV:**

It’s been six hours and Sam still hasn’t been able to get what almost happened out of his mind.

He wanted to run his fingers through Y/N’s hair and feel her lips on his. Hell, he’s wanted to do that since he first saw her awake and glaring at Dean.

Then he walked into her room this morning, and that red dress did nothing to help his feelings; he just couldn’t help himself. She was so close and her lips had parted just right …

Then Dean happened.

“Are you ever going to stop moping?” Dean asks from the driver’s seat, taking a large bite out of his second cheeseburger.

“What are you talking about?” Sam straightens and rolls his eyes as if he has no idea what his brother is referring to.

“I walked in on you trying to put the moves on Y/N; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He talks around a mouthful of meat, making Sam’s lips curl up in disgust, “You can try again later.”

“I don’t know what you think you-”

“Face it, Sammy.” Dean interrupts him, “You’ve got it bad for this chick. Not that I blame you; she has a rockin’ body.”

Sam bristles at Dean’s words and glares at his brother. “There’s just something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on. Of course, she’s beautiful, but there’s so much more than that. She just sort of has this air around her, that pulls you in, you know? And her smile …” Sam’s words drift off noticing the smirk his brother is wearing.

“You sound like a chick, you know that, right?” Dean laughs, taking another bite of his burger.

Sam rolls his eyes, yet again, and sinks back into the passenger seat of the Impala, “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean winks before looking toward the school as if something has caught his attention, “Speaking of chicks, here comes yours.”

Sam straightens, ignoring the teasing glance his brother directs at him, and finds Y/N walking across the road to the car.

She leans down and rests her arm above the car window, ducking slightly to see the boys clearly.

“Hey, I’m going to lunch, you guys want anything?” She asks.

Dean holds up his burger to say he’s good then, not-so-discreetly, elbows Sam in the ribs.

Sam glares at his brother then looks up at the gorgeous woman in front of him, “I’ll go; I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

He quickly undoes his seatbelt and opens the car door, eager to get out of the small space he’s been sharing with Dean for the past couple hours.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he walks to the other side of the car where Y/N is asking Dean if he’s sure he doesn’t want anything.

“If they have pie, you can grab me one.” Dean tells her with a smile, “I love me some pie.”

“Why am I not surprised, Winchester?” She smirks before pushing away from the car and facing Sam. “You ready?”

“Always am.”

“Good,” Her smile brightens as she leads him across the road, “There’s this little pizza shop up the road with the most amazing cheese pizza; I go every day for lunch.”

“Pizza every day?” Sam questions, finding himself checking out her small frame, curving in all the right places like an hourglass. “How are you not three-hundred pounds?”

He instantly regrets the words, but Y/N just laughs with a roll of her eyes.

“I get salads too!.” She lightly smacks his arm with the back of her hand, but her jovial mood is soon replaced with something more sobering.

“If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh at me?” She hesitantly asks, peeking up at him through her lashes.

Sam finds himself stopping and taking Y/N’s hand, feeling the need to reassure her that he’s there for her, no matter what.

“I’d never laugh at you.” He whispers, brushing her hair behind her ear so he can see her face clearly.

Her Y/E/C eyes seem to flutter in contentment at the motion, but that could just be in Sam’s head; wishful thinking for something that could never happen.

“I don’t actually come for the pizza,” Y/N begins, “I mean the pizza is great, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not the sole reason, ya know?” She’s rambling, something Sam has noticed she does when she’s nervous or embarrassed.

He only nods, encouraging her to continue.

“And interning at the school is great; I love the kids, but sometimes it feels like high school all over again with the faculty, and trust me, those were not my glory days.” She shudders, adding emphasis, “I just felt so out of place, ya know, and just needed to get out, so I left during lunch and found  _Antonio’s_ , and the owners were so kind to me, and well, I guess I just craved the affection, so I kept coming back. Now I come, not only for lunch, but also for dinner at times or whenever my friends want to order pizza, because I’ve grown to love them.” She bites her lower lip and looks down, her face flushing slightly from embarrassment.

“Y/N,” Sam tilts her chin up with his finger so he can look her in the eyes, “why would I ever laugh at you for that?”

“I don’t know,” She chuckles softly, “because I’m a loser who hangs out at a pizza shop?”

“Trust me, there are far worse things than hanging out in a pizza shop.” He smirks, “You could be off killing monsters, for example.”

She laughs causing little lines to form at the edge of her eyes, joy replacing the troubled features that adorned her face seconds ago.

“Come on monster hunter,” She links her elbow through his, “I’m hungry.”

They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, her presence causing Sam to feel the calmest he’s felt in a long time.

A bell rings overhead as Y/N opens the door and Sam is instantly greeted with the smell of Italian spices and garlic.

“Ah, Y/N!” A short man with caramel-colored skin calls from the other side of the counter, his gravelly voice carrying a slight accent, “How has your day been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know.” She shrugs with a smile, meeting the man halfway, “Crazy kids and lots of paperwork: the usual.”

He reaches out and envelopes her in a warm hug which she gladly reciprocates. Sam watches as the tension visibly leaves her body, replaced with a lightness he hasn’t seen much of.

“They love you, you know.” He tells her, “My grandson is always raving about the  _new_  school counselor.”

“Awe,” She smiles brightly, “Roberto is too sweet and gives me far too much credit.”

The man reaches out a wrinkled hand and pats her cheek affectionately, “You don’t give yourself enough credit,  _passerota_. You are wonderful!” He places both hands on her shoulders then raises a gray brow, “And who might this be?”

The man takes notice of Sam standing awkwardly behind Y/N with a smile before lowering his voice slightly, directing a question to her alone, “ _Tuo amore_?”

Her usual pale skin quickly becomes flushed as she stutters out an answer, “Oh, ah, uh, no.” She fervently shakes her head, “This is my friend Sam. Just my friend.” She quickly recovers from her earlier embarrassment and continues introductions, “Sam, this is Antonio; he owns the restaurant.”

Sam reaches out and shakes the older man’s hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“ _Anch’io_. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” Antonio smiles brightly before returning to the other side of the counter, “So what can I get you today?”

“I just want my usual, please.” Y/N tells him then turns to Sam, “What about you? You could order literally anything on the menu and it will be amazing, so you can’t go wrong.”

Sam glances at the menu hanging on the wall before saying to Antonio, “Whatever is your favorite.”

The old man’s eyes light up as he nods his head, “I’ll be right back.”

As he turns around, Y/N calls after him, “Ooh and some Cannoli’s please!”

Antonio heads to the back of the restaurant where Sam can only assume the kitchen is located.

Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, Sam glances to see Y/N quickly placing a twenty-dollar bill into a small tip jar.

Before he can say anything, Antonio is walking back and charging Y/N’s card.

“Is Rosa at the hospital today?” Y/N asks, resting both elbows on the counter.

“Si.” Antonio nods his head with a small frown, “More treatment today; junior is staying with her until I close.”

Y/N reaches out and rests her hand on Antonio’s wrist, “I’ll continue praying for you, and please let me know if you need anything at all.”

Antonio pats her hand and shakes his head, “You are such sweet girl, Y/N, but all we require is your company.”

A bell dings from somewhere in the back and Antonio gives Y/N’s hand one last pat before heading back to the kitchen.

He quickly returns with three to-go containers and a bag to place everything in; he throws napkins and silverware in the bag then hands it to Y/N who is promptly pulling the older man back in for another hug.

“Have a good day and tell Rosa I’m sorry I missed her.” She tells him, “I’ll be back again soon.”

“I have no doubt,  _bella_.” He smiles, releasing her then turning to Sam. “It is nice to meet you, Samuel.”

“You as well, sir.” Sam shakes his hand again then holds open the door for Y/N, waiting for her to exit onto the street before following behind.

They walk in silence for a moment before Sam looks over at her and inquires, “Twenty-dollar tip?”

Her face instantly flushes and her hand reaches up to play with her hair, a nervous tick Sam has noticed just from the small amount of time he’s spent with her.

“You saw that?” She ducks her head, “I tried to be discreet.”

“You can’t be discreet around a hunter.” Sam smirks, bumping her shoulder lightly, “So why twenty dollars?”

She bites her bottom lip and Sam is reminded of the thoughts he had this morning when staring at her red lips. The color has faded now, but he still has the urge to pull her against him and see what she tastes like.

“I like to help out when I can.” Y/N’s voice brings Sam back to the present, walking down the cracked sidewalk back to the school, “I’m sure you heard us talking about Rosa.”

“Antonio said she was receiving treatment?”

She nods her head, “Yeah, she’s going through chemotherapy right now.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize …”

“I mean, how would you know.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders and looks down, “It’s just that they’re such amazing people and they are constantly struggling with bills, so whenever I can, I like to help them out.”

“Do they know it’s you?” Sam asks, remembering how she waited until Antonio left before putting the tip in the jar.

“I’ve never told them, but I assume they suspect. I mean, the money shows up after I come in.” She rubs her arm and looks at Sam, “I just want to help, it’s not fair that they have to go through that, ya know?”

Sam finds himself wanting to reach out and wrap his arms around her, try to convince her that she doesn’t have to take care of everyone, but he knows she wouldn’t listen. In fact, that might be one of the things drawing Sam closer to her, the amount of love she holds inside that tiny frame of hers.

“I know.” He says quietly, interlacing his fingers through hers.

The touch of his skin seems to shake her from her thoughts; she looks up at him and smiles.

“Anyways, we should get back to Dean before he worries.” She tugs on his hand, and he follows her even though he wants to say more.

Like how he can tell she’s in pain, even though she does such a convincing job at covering it up with a smile, or how he thinks she’s amazing in every single way possible, but he doesn’t say any of these things. He just lets her pull him back down the street and back to the Impala.


End file.
